Laugh, Kookaburra Laugh
by Thistlefang
Summary: For 6 years of his life the Sniper was happy. Pre TF2 - This is a longer 'prequel' to my oneshot "four years" although it can be read alone, before or after the other fic. Rated T for language and violence later on. Mostly fluff for the 1st 2 chapters. The rest... well, you'll see. NOT A SLASH!
1. Shirley

-**Author's note**- _Hey everyone! As requested this is a longer version of my story "four years" - if you don't know what's goin' on or can't be bothered waiting for the next chapter then check it out. If not, all will be explained by the end of the story - i promise :) - __**Reviews are always appreciated! - **__you inspire me - Thistleclaw13_

* * *

He wasn't sure exactly how he'd ended up in his current predicament. He vaguely remembered aiming his rifle, overbalancing and violently slamming his head against the gnarled trunk of the acacia tree. He didn't, however, remember hitting the ground.

Oh. Right.

That was be cause he hadn't.

Lawrence Mundy re-gained consciousness to find himself hanging upside down in an acacia tree in the middle of the Australian outback, the sun blaring down all around him relentlessly. He hung there limply for a few moments, wondering what to do. There was no way he could swing himself back around without breaking his ankle, so he couldn't get back up to the branch that way unless the situation be came life-or-death, which it very well could.

His Kukri was still inside his camper van, so he couldn't cut the branch. Even if he could, the ground below him was littered with sharp red rocks, so he would likely break a few ribs in the process.

He mumbled a few curses, brows furrowed in concentration, then jumped, arms flailing around uselessly as he heard the very feminine giggle coming from just outside his line of sight.

"Well now, how did you get yourself caught up there like that, Mr Kookaburra?" the mysterious voice teased.

Lawrence just huffed moodily in reply. "Well Oi didn't bloody mean it!" he snapped, unused to being caught like this, trapped and helpless.

More laughter met his ears. "Sure you didn't, mate. Hey, nice hat!" The mysterious voice's source finally showed herself, scooping up his hat and inspecting it.

Lawrence was speechless for a second. Not - he told himself - because he was entranced by the woman's shock of fiery red hair, or bewitched by her emerald green eyes, but simply because she had his hat. No one touched his hat.

"Hey! Don't touch the hat!"

"Fine then," she pouted, dropping the lanky bushman's head-wear, "Do you need a hand getting down or should Oi leave you there to bake?"

Lawrence grumbled something incomprehensible.

"Fine then, ungrateful wanker." The woman turned on her heel and started to storm off.

"Wait! Would ya..." Mundy began, relieved when he saw her turn around and cock an eyebrow at him, "Would ya mind... maybe... helpin' me down, Sheila?"

"Of course Oi'll help you, ya bleedin' idiot," she grinned, quickly scaling the acacia.

A few moments passed, the stranger pulling out a hunting knife and sawing at the branch with the serrated edge, commentating all the while.

"Oi can't untangle your boot, loike Oi was plannin' on doin' – your foot's wedged to good for that – so Oi'll need to saw through the wood. Uh-oh, You moight wanna brace yourself for a rough landin' mate, Oi cut off a bit to much."

Almost the instant the final sentence left her lips the branch began to crack and Mundy only just managed to stop himself from cracking his head on the ground. His ribs, on the other hand, weren't so lucky.

"Oh, crap! Are you ok, mate?"

"What, me?" he grimaced, staggering to his feet, clutching his most-likely fractured ribs, "Oi'm just dandy, me. Yerself, Sheila?"

"Well, Oi'm just fine, darlin'. The name's Shirley, Oi'm a tracker out here. Yourself?" She extended a hand which the lanky man shook.

"Lawrence Mundy. Oi'm a hunter. Cheers for getting' me out 'a that tree."

Shirley laughed. She didn't know why, but somehow she liked the strange, awkward, grumpy man she'd found in an acacia tree in the middle of nowhere. It was against all of her better judgement and she knew it was bound to get her into trouble but as she watched Lawrence dust off his hat and collect his fallen weapon she made a decision.

"Come on, Kookaburra," she said, leaving no room for argument, "You owe me coffee."

* * *

The sound of laughter filled the small road-side diner.

"No, wait – it gets better!" Lawrence laughed, "When the bloke woke up 'is doctor was missing and the skeleton wos never heard from again!"

By this time Shirley was gasping for air, wiping tears from her eyes as she tried to get her breathing back under control.

"Anyway, that's why Oi'm banned from New Zealand." The bushman concluded his story with a grin, _definitely not_ mentally admiring the sound of his companion's laughter, or the way her eyes glistened as she smiled.

"That has got to be one of the most ridiculous things Oi have ever heard! Y'know, Kookaburra, you ain't that bad once ya get past your grumpy exterior."

"Heh. Oi'll take that as a compliment, Sheila."

"Good, it was meant to be." Shirley glanced towards the clock and frowned. "Oi have to go. Oi'm supposed to meet moi brother in a couple of hours." With that she stood up and smiled sadly at the man in front of her. "It was noice meetin' you, Lawrence. Try not to get stuck in any more trees."

Just before she left, he caught her arm gently.

"Sheila, Oi was wonderin' if maybe... y'know... some other time... maybe gettin' together an' doin' this again?" He mentally cursed himself for his lack of ability to form full sentances.

"Are you askin' me out on a date, Kookaburra?" she grinned mischievously, watching as his cheeks flushed slightly.

The hunter hesitated, then spoke confidently with a smirk:

"Woi yes, Oi believe Oi am."

* * *

The couple sat together beneath the acacia tree in content silence. It had become a favourite haunt of theirs, that tree, and they could often be found there after a good day's hunting.

"You know what today is, roight?" the flame-haired woman asked the man sitting next to her, laying her head on his shoulder.

"Yep." There was no chance he'd forget his lover's twenty seventh birthday.

"Did ya get me a present?" she asked him with a small smirk.

"Nope," her partner answered, "Oi gocha somethin' better."

With those words he stood up, taking her hand and pulling her up with him, then gently ran a thumb over the tree trunk where the letters "L" and "S" had been carved a little over ten months ago.

"You know Oi ain't good with words so hear me out. Shirley O'Donnell, just under a year ago you cut me down from this tree an' stole moi heart. Oi don't know where Oi'm goin' with this so Oi'm just gonna ask it outright." He got down on one knee and produced a small box from the pocket of his pants. "Oi love you more than anythin' in the world, Sheila – loife without you wouldn't be worth livin. What i'm askin' is... will you be moi woife?"

He flipped open the lid of the box, revealing a small ring, a jewel glistening atop the small band of gold.

Shirley was honestly shocked. She had never expected him to propose, he just didn't seem the type. She realised she hadn't reacted yet and that she was just gazing at him in open-mouthed shock when a look of panic flashed across his face. Then she did react.

"Of course Oi will you daft Kookaburra!" She pounced on him, hugging him tightly while they kissed. She could feel his smile as their lips met. For a second, he'd been worried she'd say no.

When they finally broke apart (and it could hardly be called that, considering how tightly they were holding one another) Shirley spoke.

"Oi...Oi actually have something to tell you too, Lawrence." She gently took one of his hands and placed it flat on her stomach, watching his eyes widen in shock.

"You're gonna be a dad."

He stood there, stupefied, for what felt to her like an eternity. Then he grinned.

"Croikey. We're gonna need a place then, Sheila. Can't have the little ankle boiter growin' up in a van."

* * *

_Now here I go again, I see the crystal visions._

_I keep my visions to myself._

_It's only me,_

_Who wants to wrap around your dreams_

_And have you any dreams you'd like to sell?_

_Dreams of loneliness._


	2. Jake

-**Author's note**- _Nothing lasts forever..._

* * *

No one paid any particular attention to the newly-weds who moved into the little orange house on the right of Adelaide street. No one, that is, except the family in the little red house on the left.

It had taken thirty years, but their son finally had a home, a wife and a child on the way. To say the senior Mundys were overjoyed would have been a terrible understatement. Victor Mundy, in particular, was more proud of his son than he'd ever been before.

"You did it, kid. How in gods name you did, I don't know, but you did it." The elder of the two men shifting various pieces of furniture around the soon-to-be living-room took a moment to give his son a fatherly slap on the shoulder.

"Erm... thanks dad."

"No, Oi'm serious Lawrence. A beautiful daughter-in-law _and_ a grandchild. Oi'd be lying if Oi said Oi ever expected it from you. You've done moiself and your mother proud, boy."

Meanwhile, in the bedroom, Muriel Mundy and her daughter-in-law were discussing othe matters.

"Thank you, Mrs Mundy – Oi honestly can't say how grateful Oi am for-"

"Oh nonsense! They're only baby clothes! And call me mum – or Muriel, if you'd rather."

"Well – thank you anyway... mum. Oi was honestly worried about how Lawrence and I were gonna be able to afford baby things, on just the money he makes from hunting," Shirley confessed with a sigh. "He tries so hard, Oi know he does, but Oi just feel so useless, not being able to help 'im roight now."

"Hush yourself now, dear! Everything will be fine, you'll see. If there's one thing our Lawrence is good at it's looking after the ones he cares about."

The red-haired woman smiled as she started unpacking and hanging clothes in the closet.

"Don't Oi know it," she grinned, "He's spent the past few months treating me like fine china. 'careful, Sheila, don't forget about the baby', 'are ya ollright Shirly? You're not sick are you?' - it's sweet but it can be a little overwhelming at times."

The elder of the two women laughed. "Oh, Victor was the same, always fussing. It must run in the family."

The chatter continued for a good few hours until the majority of the furniture and miscellaneous items had been shifted to their new positions. A short while later the elder couple left the younger pair to settle in.

They were sat on the old battered sofa in their new living room, listening to a tired radio spurt out background noise.

"So – wha'd ya think?" Shirley asked her new husband with the tiniest of smiles.

"'Bout what?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Kookaburra. You know exactly what Oi mean. The house."

"'S ollright, just a little overwhelmin'. Oi'm just happy you're here with me." He smiled at her and she hugged him closer, noticing how one of his hands had curld it's self around her swollen midsection protectively.

She would never admit it, but she was worried too. It was...strange. She had never expected to settle down, yet here she was, sitting on a couch in _her own living room_ with her _husband _with a _child_ on the way. Yeah – definitely overwhelming. She'd always assumed that they'd stay on the move, out in the bush, young forever and with no responsibilities.

_Well_, the flame-haired woman thought without a single trace of regret, _Oi guess Oi was wrong_.

* * *

"'E's beautiful."

Those were the only words, and the only thoughts for that matter, Lawrence Mundy could form as he held his tiny newborn son in his arms.

The baby's eyes were a brilliant green – not the usual blue of a newborn – and a messy tuft of brown hair sat atop his head. The child's stubby arms stretched out, tiny grasping at the air as he made a few gurgling noises.

Shirley laughed at her husband's dazed expression, taking their son back into her arms.

"'E's got your eyes," the lanky bushman said - a contented smile on his face. They slipped into comfortable silence, admiring their little boy as he fell asleep.

"What should we name 'im?"

The question hung in the air for a few moments before Lawrence spoke up.

"Oi wos thinkin' maybe Jake – after your dad?"

Shirley stiffened. Her father had died of a heart attack only a few months before and the memory was still painful. Her partner laid a hand on her shoulder as tears began to form in her eyes.

"Yeah. Oi... Oi think he would've liked that."

The little family sat together, their newest member sleeping comfortably, in the small hospital room, each one happier than they'd ever been before.

* * *

"Woah there, ya little ankle boiter! Yer gonna scare away yer present!"

Dodging around the four year-old who was currently dancing around his feet, screaming the word "_Daddy_" persistently, Lawrence carefully lifted the open-topped cardboard box from the passenger-side seat of his rusty old camper van - making sure his son couldn't see what it contained while also making sure it's contents didn't escape.

All the while Jake ran around him in circles before eventually giving up and latching on to one of his father's legs, letting himself be dragged inside.

Shirley couldn't help but laugh at the sight of her husband struggling through the door. Who said men couldn't multi-task?

"And how are moi two favourite Kookaburras today?" she asked, unhooking the little boy from Lawrence's leg and raising an eyebrow as she caught sight of the contents of the box her husband was carrying.

He gave her a crooked grin and gently placed the box down, scooping out it's contents and handing it to the fascinated toddler who had wriggled free of his mother's hold.

"A kitty!" Jake squeaked excitedly, stroking the tiny black bundle in his hands, oblivious to the half-hearted glare his father was being shot by his flame-haired wife.

"What? Oi found it in the middle of the bush – 'S not like oi could just leave it there. An' anyway, it's his birthday in a couple 'o months. It can be part of that."

Shirley rolled her eyes – in truth she thought the sight of her son and the little ball of fluff playing together was adorable – it was hard to stay mad while watching the two.

"Oi thought it would make up for me having to go away for a couple of weeks," her husband confessed. "Oi wanna earn some extra cash – he's turnin' foive after all."

Twisting a lock of her messy red hair around one finger, the green-eyed woman gave a sigh. They had discussed this already and as much as she didn't like him taking trips of longer than a week at a time she had to agree. They needed the money.

So, exactly one month after 'Snaggle' the kitten had been brought home Lawrence packed up his van and headed out into the bush.

* * *

She couldn't help but feel that something was wrong. Jake was sleeping, so it couldn't be that, and everything else seemed normal. Turning out the bedside lamp, Shirley comforted herself with the thought that her husband would be back by tomorrow. He'd called earlier that night to say he was on his way and that he'd be back by mid afternoon with a surprise for her. She smiled at the thought of what it could be as she began to drift off.

Suddenly she heard a noise, just outside her bedroom door. She raised her head lazily.

"Jake? 'S that you little Kookaburra? Did you have another noightmare?"

The door began to open, but no answer was given. By the time she realised the person who entered the room was too tall to be Jake and too short to be her husband it was too late.

The glistening object the stranger clutched in one hand was brought down on her skull with a sickening crunch.

* * *

_Like a heartbeat drives you mad,_

_In the stillness of remembering,_

_What you had,_

_And what you lost,_

_And what you had,_

_And what you lost..._


	3. Lawrence

**-Author's note-** _Ooh, second last chapter! Exciting, huh? Thanks to everyone who has reviewed/ followed/ faved - you inspire me :)_

* * *

The storm-clouds were thick in the air, as they had been all week. His hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. Something was wrong. Lawrence knew something was wrong.

He'd pulled in at a gas station only half an hour earlier and called home to say he'd be back in around two hours. No-one had answered, which was unusual, so he'd called his parents and asked them to go check up on his wife and son. They had told him no-one had answered the door.

All of the little 'panic' lights in his head had immediately began flashing which had led him to his current situation, speeding down the old dusty Australian back-roads to the orange house on the right of Adelaide street, little crocodile tooth necklace he'd made for his wife jangling as it hung on the rear-view mirror.

It was mid-day by the time he reached his destination. Every minuscule detail of what he saw that day would be permanently etched into his mind forever.

When he pulled up, stepping out of the door and staggering towards the house, he realised that his van wasn't the only car there. To his horror their were three police cars, but that wasn't what scared him the most. No, the moment his heart stopped was the moment he saw the ambulance. Then the body-bags.

A few of the officers made their way towards him, as did his father and crying mother who had been standing nearby. They didn't need to tell him. One look from his mother's red, teary eyes told him everything he needed to know.

"No...," his voice was barely a whisper as he tried to barge past the cops, ignoring them as they grabbed his arms, held him back. He struggled for a moment, feeling the first rain drops beginning to fall from the cloud-laced sky. "No...NO! JAKE! SHIRLEY!"

He roared their names, all of the emotions surging through him being forced into those words as he fell too his knees.

His parents moved to either side of him, trying to comfort their grieving son but deep down knowing there was nothing they could say.

Lawrence himself keeled there muttering one word over and over again, oblivious to the rain pelting down, running off of his hat in a steady stream. Oblivious to every_one_. Every_thing_. Only one thought could form it's self in his mind as he stared at the body-bags being loaded into the ambulance._"No."_

* * *

Three months. It had been three months since he'd seen two caskets, one much smaller than the other, lowered into the ground. Three months since he'd broken down by the graveside of his wife. His son. His _world_.

Three months and here he was, sitting in his van outside of the bastard's apartment, waiting. He couldn't help but smile coldly at the thought of what he was going to do to that _thing_.

He watched a dark figure exit the apartment and make his way down one of the numerous dark alleyways exiting the street. Lawrence calmly stepped out of the van and followed, not making a sound, putting all of his hunting expertise to good use. The figure came to a halt at the end of the alley. So did the bushman.

"'Scuse me mate, you don't happen to have the time by any chance, do ya?" The tone of Mundy's voice was light and friendly – giving the other man no reason to panic as he turned around.

The fist shooting out directly towards his jaw, on the other hand, was a cause for concern. At least it would have been had it not connected, knocking him out almost instantly.

The hunter shook his hand then wiped some blood off of his grazed knuckles then, without any second thought, he hoisted the limp body over his shoulder and headed back towards his van. This was going to be... _interesting_.

* * *

The clouds were, once-again, thick in the sky.

He'd been waiting for over four hours, sitting in the same position – motionless – watching the unconscious form for any signs of movement. He didn't mind. He was good at waiting.

The body shifted.

Mundy grinned.

"'G mornin' sunshine."

The bushman stood, pacing around the bound man slumped on the ground beneath the acacia tree. A boot connected with the killer's stomach, causing him to cry out in pain.

"Now, I'm guessin' you don't have ant idea who Oi am, do ya, wanka?"

There was a whimper that resembled "_no..please..._"

"Shut up!" Lawrence snapped, viciously kicking the pathetic-excuse-for-a-human-being again. "No... Ya don't know me, but maybe ya know what this is."

A dented metal golf trophy was dropped dangerously close to the bound murderer's face, making a harsh thunk as it connected with the ground. The sight of the object caused a flash of fear and recognition to pass over his face.

The first beads of rain began to drop, making small sizzeling noises as they connected with the still-scorching sand.

"Please, I don't know who you are... I have no idea what you're talking about... I-" A yelp cut off the man's pleas as the hunter grabbed his prey by the throat, pinning him against the acacia's trunk.

"Don't _dare_ lie to me, ya prick. I know it was you. _You_ did it. _You_ killed 'em," he snarled, voice surprisingly quiet, a harsh whisper. "Oi bet ya don't even know who they were, probably don't even care. Just two more trophies for yer collection. Well Oi'm gonna make sure you never forget who they were."

He dropped the other man with a thud, briefly tracing the two letters that had been carved into the bark so long ago.

"P-please! Don't hurt me! Have mercy!"

"Mercy?" Lawrence laughed bitterly, "Did you show _them_ mercy while you bludgeoned them with that god damned _golf trophy_!? No, mate, yer not getting' any mercy today."

No more words came from the bushman, no matter how loud his victim's screams were, no matter how much blood soaked his shirt or boots. The only expression that passed across his face was that of cold satisfaction.

When the dismembered, slashed, hacked corpse lay at his feet – blood mixing with the downpour of rain and lapping at the tree's roots – Mundy fell to the ground and laughed. He cackled madly, blood-soaked hands running through his uncombed hair, and somewhere far in the distance as the thunder rolled, a Kookaburra joined him.

* * *

_Thunder only happens when it's raining._

_Players only love you when they're playing._

_Women they will come and they will go._

_When the rain washes you clean, you'll know._

_you'll know..._


	4. Sniper

Killing animals was easy. Killing people was no different. He'd learned that quickly as he adjusted to his new life. His new profession.

The Sniper exhaled slowly as he squeezed the trigger of his rifle, a small satisfied smile on his lips as he watched the contents of his target's skull re-decorate the brick wall he had been standing in front of.

He took off his hat – holding it to his chest in a gesture of respect for the fallen man – before gathering his things and heading back to his van. For three years he'd perused his new line of work – much to the horror of his parents – and for three years he'd been living by a code. Be polite, be efficient and have a plan to kill everyone you meet. He was a professional, not a crazed gunman, and he vowed never to let himself get as carried away as he had _then_.

Lawrence frowned as he rummaged through a pile of papers he'd discarded carelessly on the passenger seat. _Where was it?_ Ah. There.

A rumpled contract that he'd read over a total of eight times now. He'd been given two of them in total, almost identical other than the logo in the top right-hand corner. One adorned with "RED" and the other "BLU".

The contract it's self had sounded appealing and as for the pay, well, the bushman hadn't known numbers _went_ that high. It did, however, require him giving up at least five years of his life. The way Lawrence saw it, at age thirty eight that wasn't a big deal. It wasn't like his life was going anywhere in particular anyway.

He grabbed a pen, quickly scrawling his name at the bottom of one of the crumpled sheets of paper. He always did like the colour RED.

* * *

"Welcome to the RED team Mr. Mundy. From now on you'll be known only as the Sniper."

Two sentences, a 'respawn' card for the engineer and a uniform were all he'd been given before they'd shoved him into the resupply room of the RED base at Teufort. The engineer in question had then taken the card, inserted into a large machine and then promptly shot the marksman in the head. Fifteen minutes later Sniper had woken up with a severe headache but -on the bright side - very much alive.

Despite the '_ya shot me in the bloody face!_' incident, over the next few weeks working for RED the bushman decided he liked the Engineer. His other team-mates, however...

The Medic wasn't too bad, he supposed, despite being a sadistic bastard who licked the blood off of his hands when he thought no-one was looking.

The Demoman wasn't particularly sober when the Sniper met him but didn't seem so bad if just a little bit _too_ happy to blow up anything and everything that moved.

The soldier was pretty much the same, but insane rather than drunk. After a solid thirty minutes of being called a 'MAGGOT!' Lawrence assumed it would be fair to say he didn't like the soldier very much.

The gun-obsessed Heavy wasn't so bad. He was surprisingly quiet while on his own – nose usually stuck in a thick Russian book of some sort – but at meal times his laughter would almost shake the room.

The Pyro... _it_ was just plain creepy.

The Scout. He talked. A lot. He was also far too fond of baseball for his own good, room littered with 'collectors items' memorabilia and what his team considered 'junk'. He was one of the most irritating, in the bushman's opinion.

Then there was the Spook. It was hard to know what to think of him, the fact being that he never appeared for more than a few moments at a time before vanishing again into thin air. Somehow he would manage to fit in at least one smart-assed comment whenever he did show face but that didn't bother Sniper too much – after all he shot them right back. Overall, the marksman saw the Spy as an asshole, but a tolerable one.

His BLU counterpart on the other hand... Well, if being stabbed by someone on at least a weekly basis (if not daily) wasn't enough to spark instant hatred Lawrence didn't know what was, but that wasn't why he hated the BLU Spy more than the rest of the BLUs combined. One little comment made by the Spook had lead to that fierce hatred.

It wasn't like when the other BLUs made a 'your wife' comment, that could be shrugged off due to simple ignorance, but the way the Frenchman had said it – dragging it out – had let the bushman know that the BLU spy knew exactly what he was saying would hit a nerve.

"I will send my condolences to your _kangaroo_-_wife_!"

That comment had led to the Sniper gifting the Spy's still living head to the Medic for storage in his fridge, which had then led to a heated rivalry between the two.

* * *

Lawrence Mundy had found a job. One that he'd be forced to stick at for a minimum of five years. Most people forced to work under the conditions he did would not have been happy with this. The Sniper didn't mind it – he was a patient man. As long as he had a rifle in his hand and something to point it at he was happy. There was nothing to distract him, no memories of the life he could have had, thoughts of the person he could have been.

He smiled bitterly. He could and pretend he could forget, but he never would. The questions still tore at him "_What if I had been there?_" "_Why did it have to be them?_" There was no forgetting, no 'moving on'. All he could do was live out the rest of his life, hoping he'd see them again... one day.

* * *

_Now here you go again,_

_You say you want your freedom._

_Well who am I to keep you down?_

_It's only right,_

_That you should play the way you feel it,_

_But listen carefully to the sound,_

_Of your loneliness..._

_Song - "Dreams"_

_Artist – 1967 – Fleetwood Mac, 2012 – Bastille_

* * *

-**Author's note**- _Hey again guys! thanks for reading, reviewing, following and all of that stuff heheh! Well, that's it - both the end and the beginning. Should I write more TF2 stuff? Meanwhile, here's something extra..._

**Fun facts?: **

_The Sniper's name is "Lawrence" because of the "Lawrence of Australia" hat._

_While the whole "kitten" thing may seem irrelevant, I had to put it in because kittens are adorable._

_I can totally see Medic licking the blood off of his hands. You?_

_-Thistleclaw13_


End file.
